


On your feet, sword in hand

by Elesianne



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (sort of; you know how it is), Family, Gen, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28943625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elesianne/pseuds/Elesianne
Summary: Maedhros has taken on the task of teaching Elrond and Elros to wield a sword. Sometimes it is slow going.
Relationships: Elrond Peredhel & Elros Tar-Minyatur & Maedhros | Maitimo
Comments: 6
Kudos: 40





	On your feet, sword in hand

As Elros's sword goes flying from his hand in a neat arc, Maedhros sighs heavily.

'You need to hold on to it', he says to the boy as he goes fetch it from the mud that recent rains have turned their practice area into. 'Can't keep letting go of it.'

'I am trying', Elros says between gritted teeth. 'I am not letting go of it on purpose.'

'You are doing something wrong since it keeps flying out of your hand', his twin says helpfully; and that tight thing in Maedhros's chest that hasn't unwound in a long time pulses and aches.

As these twins, dark-haired and fair-faced and formerly so serious, have relaxed in Maedhros's company over the years, they have begun reminding him more and more of the little brothers he lost the day he and Maglor found these two.

Gruffly, he says, 'You are a pot calling a kettle black, Elrond. You may be able to hold on to your sword but your face has become as closely acquainted with the mud today as Elros's sword. It is even less use in battle to keep going down yourself.'

'You can't expect us to manage to better you in combat', Elrond protests, half-grinning from behind his mask of drying mud, carelessly wiped around his face rather than off it. 'You're twice as tall as us.'

'Not true', says Maedhros to that well-worn joke. It hasn't been for a while. These twins are growing like weeds, shooting up fast and flourishing in difficult conditions. It must be that Second-born blood of theirs.

'He does have only one hand, that is an advantage for us', Elros ponders, leaning on his sword that he has propped up in the mud.

Maedhros thwacks it with his own, hard, making it and Elros wobble. 'That I do, and indeed you should have an advantage there – but you don't because the greatest advantage that I have over you two is practice. Come on, Elros, let's continue', he says. 'It is still your turn.'

'I'm tired', Elros whines, but he raises his sword. 'And hungry.' Elrond nods enthusiastically at that.

'We will go in for lunch as soon as each of you makes one good attempt. Now, steady on your feet, hold your sword right, and come at me.'

About fifteen seconds later, Elros is again running after his mud-bound sword and Elrond is rolling his eyes.

Maedhros manages not to sigh. He throws a cloth he carries for exactly this to Elros. 'Wipe the grip so it's not slippery, and come at me again.'

Elros does as told though there is defiance in his eyes. There often is when their practice sessions run long. Maedhros is glad of it: though it may have led his family astray, he believes that some fire in the spirit is needed to survive in this world.

'I don't know what I'm doing wrong', the boy says as he grasps his sword again.

Maedhros reconsiders his course. 'Alright', he says. 'Elrond, come here too. Let's go through the basics again. It may have been too long since we last did that.'

Maedhros stands close beside Elros, putting his hand on his hands, guiding his fingers and showing what the right grip strength is. 'Not too loose, not too tight', Maedhros says as he has said many times before. 'Find that balance and keep it, no matter what happens around you.'

The first time he did this, it was one of the first times he'd touched the twins – Maglor and his people have done most of it – and they'd flinched at his touch. Not anymore, not for years. Nor does Maedhros have to wonder any longer, in some distant corner of his mind that he pays little attention to but also doesn't tell to be quiet, whether the boys he has given swords harbour a desire to use those swords on him.

'Good', he says to Elros. 'That is good.' Elros nods, but the spark of rebellion is still there in his eyes.

Letting go of his hands, Maedhros says, 'This is all to protect you. To make you able to protect yourselves. I drive you hard because that is what is needed. The world is dangerous, and Maglor and I cannot always be by your side to keep you safe. That is why you need to know how to use your weapons. They will turn you into your own protectors.'

Maedhros does not wait for a reply; this is not a negotiation. He has appointed himself to teach these children the use of steel, and he will do it whether they like it or not.

He backs a few steps. 'Come at me together', he says, and as they do, Maedhros dodges and parries and shouts instructions.

This time it takes the better part of a minute for Elros's sword and Elrond's backside to end up in the muddy ground. Maedhros helps both up.

'Time to go inside', he says.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are very much appreciated <3


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